


Monsters

by goingbadly



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Non-Stop
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bloodlust, M/M, Non-Stop Verse, Sadism, Sociopaths, they are sociopaths, violence kink, warning for like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingbadly/pseuds/goingbadly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle's Non-Stop!Verse so if you haven't read Non-Stop this is going to make approximately zero sense. A very short drabble in which Laurens and Lafayette get together and mutually celebrate a violence kink because I am trash and I /needed/ this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Non-Stop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626945) by [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle). 



<Mon cheri, you cannot convince me to be afraid.>

Laurens stares at his phone, considers it for a moment, then puts it back on the desk. He’s not answering that. He’s _definitely_ not answering that. There is a list about a hundred and ten items long why _answering that_ is a terrible idea, and it starts with one (capital oh, period, closed bracket) the smell of Lafayette’s skin when he’s come home from a run. Two, the rust red crescent of blood under Laurens’ fingernails. Three. The whites of Lafayette’s eyes and the way he throws his head back when he laughs, baring his throat like a deer breaking through bush. His eyes over a coffee cup, flashing, his smile wide as he shoots insults back across the table. Laurens can see the challenge in that grin: _Mon cheri, test me. Please. Je suis pret._

Shit.

Laurens takes a long, slow breath and lets it out. His phone vibrates again against the desk. Up at the front of the room his prof drones on, unconcerned by the rattling sound. No one looks around. Laurens’s leg jiggles restlessly, trying to hold out, but he can’t take it. He grabs the phone so hard his thumb goes white on the power key.

<I have seen your bruises on our little Alex, after all. Is that what you mean by, /I am dangerous?/>

As he stares at it, a second message pops up.

<I am not impressed.>

Laurens snarls, gripping the phone tighter. In his lap his other hand is a fist, his nails digging painfully into the palm of his hand. _Lafayette,_ immigrant upper-classman with his perfect clothes and his ringlet curls and his easy, ever-present smile. He’s nothing but a fop. A dandy. He slums around Laurens and Alex like he wants to be a part of the trash heap, but he has no idea what it’s like. What he’s playing with. Laurens feels his teeth grinding in his mouth, flakes of bone on his tongue. It’s one thing to be friends with Alex – to know Alex’s mercurial moods and the way he snaps between self-destruction and mania, half hummingbird and half human blender. But that doesn’t mean Lafayette knows Laurens, what Laurens is capable of. Alex is easy: he’s an addict. Laurens –

_I’m a whole nother kind of monster._

The prof wraps his lecture up with ten minutes towards the half hour and Laurens snaps off a quick command at Lafayette to leave him alone before throwing his phone in his bag. He hears it buzz, but he ignores it; pushing through the crowd towards the door.

 _Stay away from me,_ he said. He meant it.

***

“Where’s Alex?” Laurens snaps, seeing Lafayette waiting at the corner under the street lamp. He doesn’t have time for this. It’s six pm, the sun is down, and there’s a short-fuse white-hot frustration burning in Laurens’ stomach already. If he doesn’t get ten k in before he has to say four words strung together he’s going to hit someone. Serious threat, full stop after the period. Laurens is **_going_** to hit someone.

At the sound of Laurens’ voice, Lafayette looks up and smiles. That being his default expression: that fucking smile. Laurens wants to kick it off his face.

Now, _there’s_ a thought. If he can’t get his ten k in, maybe he can fuck Lafayette up. Alex’d be mad, but then again, Alex would get over it. Maybe. Probably. Laurens curls his hands into fists again, feeling the muscles in his thighs tense and jump. He’s got to calm down.

_If only he’d stop getting under my skin –_

“Alex is being attended to by Mister Burr tonight,” Lafayette says lightly, unfolding himself from whatever stretch he’d been doing. He’s long, lean and tall, and the streetlight casts stark shadows under the bones of his cheeks. They look like bruises.

Purple would be dull but vivid against his brown skin.

“Right,” Laurens spits, through gritted teeth. “Right.” Lafayette is wearing loose jogging pants that accentuate the narrow nip of his waist, muscles in his stomach picked out clean in underarmor. Laurens wants to go through it with his teeth, rip the thin fabric in his bare hands and lay Lafayette out underneath him black and bloody. _But then he’d be terrified, and Alex would be furious._ “I’m going home.”

He even manages to turn his back before Lafayette says, mockingly, “Ah, I see, you are afraid.”

And if there’s one thing guaranteed to get Lauren’s hackles up, it’s that. He swings around, slowly, consciously uncurling his hands from fists at his sides. Maybe the killing impulse is obvious in every other line of his body, but hey. He’s trying to hide it. “Excuse me?” even his voice stays level. Laurens is very proud of that.

Lafayette doesn’t seem to appreciate the effort Laurens is going through not to beat him bloody. He shrugs one shoulder, managing to make the motion eloquent of a thousand shades of dismissal. “You are afraid, yes? You think that you are going to shock me, _somehow,_ and I am going to run crying to Alexander.” Lafayette’s voice makes it clear how likely that seems to him. “Then your dearest will be mad at you, _non_ , and you, _desole,_ poor Laurens – “ he makes a face – “All alone.”

There’s no way he’s _not_ trying to get a rise out of Laurens. _I’m not going to fall for that,_ Laurens tells himself, even though he can feel the fuse on his anger burning shorter and shorter. _I’m the big man here._ “I’m trying to tell you, for your own good, stay the fuck out of my face.”

“Why? You still will not tell me. You say I should be afraid of you, but I see no evidence of this. So tell me. Why?”

There it is again. That naked, inviting challenge in Lafayette’s eyes above his easy smile. If Laurens thought for a heartbeat that the pampered rich French bastard knew what he was asking for, it’d be the most enticing expression in the world.

But Lafayette _doesn’t_ know _._ How could he possibly? He doesn’t know how it feels, the violent pleasure of it, how when they cry out under his hands Laurens feels an apotheosis like the end of the world –

_Monster._

“Leave me,” he snarls, “Alone.”

“Ah yes,” Lafayette smiles back, friendly and pleasant and entirely mocking, “So you can write in your blog, perhaps, about how you are so hard done by and so dark and we should all be in awe of your terrible brooding how _tu te morfonds_ – ”

And that’s about as much as Laurens can take. He sends a quick mental apology over his shoulder to Alex, wherever he is, lunges a step forward, and swings. Mean right hook. Fast and high, carrying the weight and momentum of Laurens’ compact body behind it. He’s short enough that he can come in low, under Lafayette’s strike zone, swing for the ribs with his knuckles and catch a follow-through punch in Lafayette’s stomach before he even looks like moving at all. Lafayette’s flesh will feel like rotten fruit under his fists and then the bones will crack and there’ll be that pure, inarticulate rush of adrenaline when his opponent – _his prey –_ cries out, like evolutionary success –

At least, that’s the plan. Mean right hook. Fast and high.

Carrying the weight and momentum of Laurens’ body forward, so when Lafayette drops into a fighting stance, Laurens is already off balance and already moving. He can’t pull back. He wouldn’t if he could. His heartbeat jumps up above sky-high, above limits, pounding in his ears like the wrath of god.

Lafayette catches Laurens’ fist with a solid-sounding _thunk_ of flesh on flesh and his huge fingers curl down around Laurens’ knuckles so fast it has to be muscle moving on its own, without conscious direction. He’s smiling, easy and languid, but now there’s a flash of canine on the corner that Laurens didn’t see before.

And his eyes, _shit,_ his eyes. That same challenge, only now it’s all gone cold. Something dark and hungry is looking back at him out of Lafayette’s face, and Laurens feels his breath go shallow. Laurens has never seen eyes like that before, but he’s _felt_ them, the moment that mask slides down over his own face. His heart stutters, stopping entirely. He knows he is frozen.

Lafayette’s hand tightens over his, and Laurens registers that Lafayette’s palms are warm – preternaturally warm, the pads of his smooth fingers burning against Laurens’ cold skin.

“Mon cheri,” Lafayette breathes, into the stillness between them, “I believe you have made a mistake.” They’re so close Laurens can feel Lafayette’s exhale brush his cheek.

Then, sudden and violent, Lafayette is moving. He’s _fast –_ Christ he’s fast, for someone so big. Laurens might have seen that coming. Lafayette twists Laurens around, using his grip on Laurens’ hand to snap his arm the wrong way so Laurens is forced to contort or let the bone break. He spins, feeling Lafayette lock his wrist into place behind his back. Then a foot slams into the back of his knee and he’s falling, and Lafayette is riding him down.

Laurens crashes onto his knees on the pavement with Lafayette’s weight on top of him, his arm wrenched painfully up behind his back. One of Lafayette’s knees jams into the small of his back, instantly, applying pressure.

“So dangerous,” Lafayette grins. Then he starts to pull.

Laurens has about two seconds to get out of the hold before his shoulder dislocates. He drops himself flat to the pavement, twisting as he falls. It’s all a mess, for a second – Lafayette losing balance on top of him, the skin on Laurens’ wrist burning against the friction of Lafayette’s grip. There’s a fumble of bone and flesh as Laurens tries to get his knee up, and can’t, and Lafayette brings his elbow down towards the soft flesh of Laurens’ stomach –

_Hand free. Kick off the ground. Flip us over, Lafayette’s long stomach hot between your thighs, but don’t think about it, bring your hand back for the blow –_

There’s no sense to it. There’s nothing but the pure adrenaline rush. Laurens brain isn’t so much going as it’s screaming along, a bright silver-and-gold rush of nothing but light and chemical excitement. He gets two quick short jabs in, one glancing off Lafayette’s face and the other hitting solid in his shoulder, before Lafayette’s hips roll and jerk and Laurens has to skin his palms catching himself on the pavement to keep from face-planting forward.

It’s a moment of weakness he can’t afford and so they go. Over again. This time Lafayette’s on top and he pins Laurens easily, big enough that he can use his bodyweight to crush Laurens into the ground. His elbow jams down into Laurens’ arm and there’s a flood of sharp, nauseating pain as he leans the bone into the pressure point. Laurens hears himself make a raw, animal sound, his body bucking underneath Lafayette.

“ _Oui,”_ Lafayette murmurs, “ _plus de cela, s’il vous plait, donnez-moi –“_

“I don’t fucking _speak French,”_ Laurens spits back, pain making his voice rough.

Lafayette laughs, breathlessly. He shoves his face in close to Laurens ear and says, enunciating carefully, “ _Je voudrais que tu me blesses tres fortement, mon cheri.”_ Then he bites, sharp and hard, just over the line of Laurens’ jaw.

Laurens can feel Lafayette’s teeth scrape against bone. He thrashes, crying out again, and manages to knock Lafayette’s elbow free enough to get one of his hands back in the game. It’s a bad angle, but Laurens is a good shot: he catches Lafayette high up on the cheekbone and knocks him sideways, off Laurens onto his ass on the other side of the sidewalk.

Laurens pushes himself up to a sitting position and stares at Lafayette, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing. He’s not the only one like this. Lafayette is panting heavily, his hand pressed to his cheek where an impressive black bruise is already starting to form. His grin is wide. Laurens thinks the word _bloody,_ even though there’s no blood in it. Just the promise in Lafayette’s eyes, that same boundless challenge.

“You like to hurt people,” Lafayette says, after a moment. His tone is as light as ever, that smile not even starting to waver.

“Yes,” Laurens replies roughly. He doesn’t think he has the strength to come up with anything else. Just that. _Yes._ God. Yes.

“You would like to hurt me, I think. This is what you are afraid of.”

“Yes.”

Lafayette watches him for a moment, and then a secret knowledge floods that smile. “And now you know that we are not so different, in this.” His dark eyes stay on Laurens, shadowed by the hood of his thick lashes. “Are you still afraid?”

Laurens takes a deep breath. There’s something in that challenge. There’s a hole. He’s going to fall into it, him and Lafayette both. He can already see it. This isn’t Alex – hummingbird, human blender, punching bag. He’s not going to _spend_ his bloodlust in Lafayette, not like he did with Alex: Lafayette’s not going to banish this, between them, he’s going to stoke it. Purposefully. It’s obvious; it’s in Laurens’ blood, palms scraped raw on the pavement. It’s in the pant of their breathing. It’s in the naked challenge in Lafayette’s eyes.

They’re going to drown in this, together.

“No,” Laurens says, “I’m not afraid.”

***

Laurens’ favorite nights are the ones where they box bare-knuckle and naked in the living room, painting their bodies with blood. Lafayette fights like a dancer; he’s all eloquent grace and liquid motion, slipping through holds that would have had Alex helpless. Laurens learns more fighting with him for two weeks than he learned in _years_ of street brawls. Lafayette is poetry. In the moonlight his skin is a warm shade of ash, like the supple bark of young willow trees. Blood looks black on Lafayette. It spatters in his hair and tangles and beads on his curls and he grins at Laurens, goading him onwards. Ever onwards.

Sometimes in the dark he wraps himself around Laurens and speaks in a lyrical, non-sensical flow of French and English, tongue licking at Laurens’ ear, sucking bruises into Laurens’ throat. _Je veux te voir rip them to shreds for me, your hands on the blade, you would seriez si belle, mon amour, Je rêve de vous tuer_ , _for me, toujours, for me. You would, non, je – I can see you, vos mains autour, around, someone’s throat, déchirant lui ouvert pour moi. Vous le feriez, wouldn’t you? Mon beau monstre._

Lafayette likes that idea: Laurens as his mad dog killer on a leash. And Laurens shudders and admits to himself, curled around the fierce heat of Lafayette’s body, that he likes it too. Lafayette’s voice in his ear, whispering unspeakable things. Laurens can imagine how it would be, if they went through with it, Lafayette’s fingers curled around his neck as he looks down at his unsuspecting victim. Prey.

And maybe it would have stayed like that – a fantasy, a thing to be shared between them in the dark when not even god could see them.

But then Jefferson takes Hamilton.

***

Lafayette puts a hand on Burr’s shoulder. "Sorry, Mon Ami,” he says, delicately. Laurens can see how much it costs him to stay calm, although he doubts Burr catches the same small cues. Lafayette’s eyes are fixed on the shut door. “I take it he is in there?"

Laurens takes the steps two at a time behind him. There’s something singing in his blood like fire and he knows only half of it is rage. Burr looms up in front of him, suddenly, as if there’d been a mist on Laurens’ vision. He’s nodding. His face is pale. Laurens sizes him up in a heartbeat: he knows instantly that Burr won't be able to  stomach what has to be done. Lafayette is looking out of the corner of his eye, but before he can say anything Laurens bends down to put himself on Burr’s level. He raises his eyebrows. Burr's shirt is clean, his face harrowed but unmarked. _Didn’t even put up a fight?_ Something whispers in Laurens’ chest. He tries to ignore it. Not everyone's like him and Laf, after all.

“You coming in with us?” he asks Burr. The _no_ is clear on Burr’s face, even if he doesn’t say anything. Laurens doesn't mind that, either. He nods tightly. _Right. Better. Leave the monstrous work to the monsters._ Burr looks like he might want to say something, but before he can, Laurens rolls his shoulders. More for the visual effect than for getting the kinks out. “Think the door is unlocked, Laf?” he asks, conversationally. He's playing tough guy, but underneath it, there's that calm and deadly knowledge. 

_We're going to do what needs to be done._

“He’s too cocky to think…” Burr starts, falters, and falls silent. Laurens should feel disgusted by Burr's weakness, but he feels nothing. Burr can’t handle it: that’s whatever. It doesn't matter. It's extraneous knowledge. Nothing matters now but the fact that Alex is in there, and Lafayette is at his side ready to work. _And we will **work -**_ Laurens thinks. Something slow and furious and molten like lava is turning over in his stomach. _Alex is in there and someone has laid hands on him, and they do not know yet but the devil has come knocking for them._ Lafayette turns slowly from the door, and meets Laurens’ eyes. _Two devils,_ Laurens amends. Lafayette's face is clear and resolute. Laurens feels his own expression harden. _I’m going to kill Jefferson,_ he thinks, knows Lafayette is reading it on his face.

“After you,” Lafayette says softly. “ _Mon Cheri._ ” He’s smiling again; his soft, secret smile. That’s Lafayette’s smile for the nights he goes too far, where he pushes in and in on Laurens’ chest until the ribs start to groan under his weight. That’s the smile for the nights when _no_ seems like a fragile thing, like Lafayette’s palms are pressing against it trying to touch something on the other side.

 _Transcendence. Apotheosis. We’re going to kill Jefferson._ If that smile isn’t permission, it’s as good as. Laurens starts forward. He even makes it two steps inside before three things register in quick, machine-gun succession.

Laurens jerks himself back out of the house, breathing harshly through his nose.

_Item one – smell of blood. Item two, running water. Item three –_

Item three is whatever that is on the living room floor that looks suspiciously like Alexander Hamilton, covered in blood and not moving. Laurens turns. Over his shoulder, Lafayette’s already seen. There’s another short moment where their eyes meet and that strange, intimate communication moves through them again.

_Someone will have to see to Hamilton._

_I’m going to kill him, Laf. I can’t have witnesses._

Without saying anything, Lafayette reaches for Burr. The eye contact between them breaks as Lafayette hauls Burr forward, but Laurens doesn’t mind. He’s standing dead in the hallway, listening to the water run. Listening to a dead man wash his hands. In Laurens’ mind there’s a cold clockwork feel like the tick of a slow and merciless clock. _I am going to kill him. I am going to kill him. I am going to kill him._

“Little Burr, his legs, if you don’t mind,” Lafayette murmurs.

They go back out the door together, carrying Alex. Laurens is standing dead still in the hallway, still. He shuts his eyes, and breathes deep. Underneath the smell of Hamilton’s blood he can still scent Jefferson’s perfume, floral and effeminate. He can smell the sharp, chemical scent of cocaine. They must have enough in the house to kill an elephant, if it’s that obvious. Upstairs the water running has a soft and silvery sound, and Laurens recognizes with a complete and utter lack of surprise that he is processing on a level like shock. This is survival-level functioning. Lizard brain.

_I’m going to kill him. He laid his hands on Alex. How dare he._

Rage threatens to flare up in Laurens’ head but it’s beaten down, held back by the slow cold progression of inevitabilities. _I’m going to kill him._ He breathes in. Holds it. Lets it out.

Lafayette’s footsteps come slowly up the hall behind him as the water running upstairs turns off.

“He’s safe, _mon cheri,”_ Lafayette says. Still quiet. He’s being so quiet. “And I know what you are thinking but you cannot kill Jefferson today.”

“Stop me,” Laurens replies. He’s not angry. He knows Lafayette has nothing. There’s nothing in the world that can stop Laurens tonight.

“ _Mon Cheri…_ ” Lafayette moves forwards. He puts a hand on the back of Laurens neck. Laurens lets him, mainly because the warm stroke of Lafayette’s fingers over his skin makes something animal in Laurens arch its back and purr. “I cannot let you do this. But, I am willing to compromise.”

“Talk fast. He’s on his way.” There are footsteps on the stairs, now. Jefferson coming down to claim his victim.

“I am willing to forgo the pleasure of hurting him, if you will allow me to, ah… _diriger._ ”

“I don’t _fucking speak French,_ Laf.”

He can feel the smile in Lafayette’s exhale, brushing against the small hairs of his neck. “Let me whisper in your ear what I would like you to do to him, _mon cheri._ If you stop when I say, I will tell you how wonderfully _éveillé_ it makes me, when I watch you with him.”

And oh.

Oh.

_Yes._

***

The next time it happens Laurens is bound, hand and foot, pinned under Lafayette in bed. He is snarling. He is struggling. Until Lafayette whispers, “ _Mon cheri,_ do you know what I dream of?” in his ear. Then, Laurens goes still.

“In my dream," Lafayette murmurs into Laurens' ear, "You have Jefferson’s fingers in your grip _._ You know, you have beautiful hands. _Tres belle._ I think about them often.” Lafayette lays one finger on the back of Laurens’ hands, over his knuckles, feeling Laurens' muscles twitch. “I dream I can see you bend him backwards, underneath you. I dream he is screaming and you are looking at me, _tu cherchez à moi_ with a little spatter of blood over the bone of your cheek and you ask my permission, _tu me demandez , Lafayette , permettez-moi,_ may I _break_ him –“

And Laurens, underneath him, moans.


End file.
